my wayward son
by Prince Adam
Summary: A report from Treville uncovers Rochefort's illegitimate son, and the four musketeers must learn to put the past behind them. [an abridged collection of one-shots, set in an au in which Milady stays at the end of s2, and s3 doesn't happen.]
1. don't you cry no more

Everything, Athos thinks, is oddly peaceful. Milady sleeps beside him, for the first time in five years. He rises with the sun, and he makes himself breakfast.

Milady appears in the doorway at approximately quarter-past nine. "Morning, beautiful." The words have left his mouth before he can register what he is saying. Milady smiles. Is this what married life is like, he has to wonder. Is this what he gets to enjoy and treasure every morning, every day?

D'Artagnan smirks when Athos turns up late to the garrison, but says nothing. He has no room to talk, and he knows it.

Treville interrupts the four musketeers around dinner-time. "We've had a report of a disturbance in the city. It doesn't sound like anything major, but I'd like you to take a look nonetheless."

The four musketeers end up in a part of the city similar to the Court of Miracles. "There it is," says Porthos gruffly, pointing to the offending house. He is the first to knock. The door swings open.

A short woman with dirtied cheeks and scraggly hair stares up at him. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asks.

Porthos is too preoccupied with the stench of the house to realise she has asked him a question; luckily his statement seems to answer it. "We've been asked to investigate."

The woman blanches. "Who sent you?"

"Forgive him," says Aramis quickly, tipping his hat towards her. "We're musketeers. Someone in the area has raised concerns over a disturbance and we've just come to investigate it."

"I see no reason to come in my house," she says sharply, but she is nervous.

"Ma'am, I am sure a good woman like you would have nothing to hide ..." Aramis frowns. Although he is sure the woman is hiding something, he cannot intrude this way.

"Mamma?" a small voice comes from inside the house.

The woman quickly shuts the door. Aramis looks from Porthos to Athos and then d'Artagnan in confusion. "There is no disturbance, simply a child."

"There are many children in Paris," says Athos. "Nobody would report a disturbance to do with a child unless it was greatly concerning—" He stops, steps between Aramis and Porthos, and turns the doorknob, just in time to hear the painful sound of flesh against flesh.

"— dare you intrude on me! Did you send for those men, you bastard? Son of a traitor! Just like your father, aren't you?"

"Unhand the boy," says Athos, and when he speaks, his voice resembles a snarl.

The woman freezes for a second, and such a second is all Athos needs to pick up the boy and rest him in his arms. He is still and frozen, not willing to relax and yet not struggling in Athos's arms.

Porthos lays a large hand on the woman's arm. "I will take her to Treville. You will deal with her son—perhaps wash him and feed him before you take him to an orphanage."

"He deserves it, the scum!" cries the woman. "The son of Rochefort! He should pay for his dirty blood!"

Porthos half-drags her from the house. Athos stares at the boy in his arms. Thin, frail and trembling, he couldn't look any less like Rochefort. "What's your name?" he asks, keeping his voice low and gentle.

"François," he whispers. Athos tries to stroke the boy's matted, dirty, blond hair, but he jerks away.

"I'm going to give him a bath and perhaps some new clothes," says Athos. "You report to Treville."

D'Artagnan nods, but Aramis furrows his brows. "I don't see why you should care," he says, eyeing the child with distrust. "There are hundreds of abused kids in Paris. Why should one more make any difference?"

" _Aramis_!" exclaims d'Artagnan.

Athos notices that the yelling has made François uncomfortable, and he quietly excuses himself. The walk home is unbearably quiet, and he is glad when he enters the house. He sets the child down, and Milady comes into the hallway. "I didn't expect you back so— _oh_!"

"This is François de Rochefort," says Athos lamely. He isn't sure how else to say it. "I need you to run a bath for him ..."

"I can do that," says Milady. She looks at the child curiously, but her gaze is gentle.

François puts a thumb into his mouth. "Don't do that," says Athos gently. "Your thumb is all dirty. How old are you?"

The boy brightens up. "Two-an'-a-hawf," he lisps. "I'm fwee on da—da Jan'werry."

"Wow," says Athos quietly. "You're a big boy, then."

He nods. Milady comes in a few minutes later to say that the bath is ready. Athos shows François the tub, and gently coaxes him in.

"Iss warm," he comments.

"It is," agrees Athos. "Lie down for me, let me wet your hair."

François whimpers. "Do you gotta?" he asks shakily.

"I can go slow," suggests Athos.

"Pwease do it fast," he mumbles. So Athos tries to make the hair-washing over as soon as possible. He has not missed the various bruises across the boy's body, and he swears to himself that his mother will pay. He cannot see Rochefort in this boy. He can only see a frightened, abused child. François has paid dearly for his father's sins, and he will be punished no longer.

Athos wraps François in a towel, and notices the clothes that Milady has left for him. Athos puts the shirt and leather pants on him, smiling when he realises he is dressed like a musketeer.

François reaches for Athos's hand and the two join Milady in the dining room. She has laid out a plate of meat and vegetables for both of them.

"Watch him, Athos," she says. "He might need some help with that beef."

"Foss," repeats François. "Dat your name?"

"Yes, it is," says Athos, laughing quietly. "And that's my wife, Milady."

"M'adee," says the little boy, grinning. He stares at the plate of food in front of him.

"Aren't you eating?" asks Athos.

"I gotta wait," he explains. "You neffa ses I could eat yet."

"Hey, in my house you don't need permission to eat," says Athos. "If the plate is in front of you then it's okay to eat the food."

"Oh," says François, and he picks up his fork, stabs a carrot, and begins to eat. By the time they are done, Athos remarks that they should take him to Treville. He picks him up for the walk there, and by the time they have reached Treville's office, François is asleep in Athos's arms.

"His mother has been arrested," says Treville, "but tell me—is it true? Is he Rochefort's son?"

"I believe so," says Athos. "And the boy was beaten as a result ..."

"Athos, I have to be frank with you," says Treville. "The people are going to judge this boy by his father. Aramis, I fear, has already done so."

Athos looks down at the sleeping boy, so peaceful and calm against his chest. "He is so young—it is a shame ..."

"Indeed. And so I must ask a favour of you. Will you care for him?"

"Sir—"

"I understand it is a great responsibility—"

"Sir—"

"I know this will be hard for you, especially considering—"

"Sir!" cries Athos. "I would be delighted, as long as my wife agrees."

* * *

Aramis does not trust this boy. His fears are irrational, he knows, but he is reminded of Rochefort every time he looks at him.

The two-year-old is currently running in circles around the garrison courtyard. "I'm a howsey, watch!" He grins and bounds up to Aramis. "Come an' pway howses, Mis."

Athos is watching them from the other side of the courtyard, so Aramis playfully grabs François by the waist and hoists him up on his shoulders. The boy squeals in delight, and Aramis tilts his body backward and forward, much to the boy's delight. "Go again! Go again!" he squeals.

D'Artagnan joins Athos in watching them. "You reckon it's going alright then?"

"They'll be best pals by the time I tell François it's time to go home," says Athos. "Look at him, he's having almost as much fun as my son is."

"That's how it should be, is it not?"


	2. i trust in you

Athos cannot deny that he is nervous at being asked to bring François along with him to meet the King and Queen. He is rather glad that they are in the gardens; the boy is in a rather excitable mood.

"Awe we _weally_ gonna see da King?" asks François. He is bouncing on his feet, and Athos is tempted to scoop him up in his arms. The thought, however, is interrupted by a royal guard announcing that the King is ready to see them.

Anne and Louis are sat together on a bench, with the baby Dauphin wriggling on his blanket. Anne is the first to look up. A tiny child peeks out from behind Athos's legs, waves one small hand, and returns to his hiding spot. She smiles easily. "Hello."

"Hi," whispers François, and Athos quietly moves so that both King and Queen can see him properly. "You gotta baby …"

Anne laughs. "Yes," she says. "His name's Louis. Would you like to come and see?"

François looks nervously from the Queen to Athos.

Athos knows what he is waiting for. "Go on, then," he says.

And so the little boy takes steps across the garden towards Anne and the Dauphin. François kneels down next to the baby. "Hi," he says, "I'm François."

The Dauphin gurgles. Louis has half an eye on both children, but Anne smiles at him. "They'll be fine. _He'll_ be fine."

"How is he?" asks Louis. "When I heard …"

"The state I found him in was most displeasing, Your Majesty," says Athos, unable to fight the bitterness in his voice. "I do not wish to go into detail, but I daresay it will take a long time to reverse the damage his mother has done."

"He is not his father," says Anne. "I can see—and with love, he will surely become a good man. He has very good role models."

"I'm glad you think so, Your Majesty," says Athos. He turns to François, who is playing peek-a-boo with the young Prince. The baby gurgles excitedly.

 _No,_ thinks Athos, _he is not his father at all …_


	3. repaint and repaint and repaint

It is hard, at first, for Aramis to see nobody but Rochefort. He cannot separate the little boy from the man who tried to kill the queen.

But, with time, Aramis can see that François is not his father, and he berates himself for thinking so. They say time heals all wounds. _It is not so_ , Aramis thinks, _for I can look and see Rochefort's face in François's. It is not so, for I can see fear in this boy's eyes whenever I raise my voice._

Time does not heal all wounds, but it heals many.

Aramis takes small steps, much as his younger counterpart does. François accompanies him to church on Sundays, and follows the words to the prayers with his finger, although he cannot read. Aramis plays François's favourite game of horses, and they play hide-and-seek in the garrison, much to Treville's chagrin.

Captain Treville says nothing on the matter, because Aramis is much more relaxed than he was the first time François de Rochefort came to the garrison; because the boy smiles more than he has ever done before.

It takes almost a year, but Aramis is determined. Time is not the only thing that heals wounds.

Love helps.

And he looks forward to the days when François comes bounding into the garrison ahead of Athos and Milady, and squeals out for "Unca Mis!", and runs into his arms.


	4. mistakes they were bound to be made

Athos can't _see_ straight, let alone think straight. He doesn't mean to get so drunk, but all he can see is _Thomas Thomas Thomas_ and it is _drowning_ him. He is too drunk to hear the quiet crying in the corridor, nor the repeated cry of a child's voice.

François sniffles. His coat hangs on the peg in the corridor, and he hovers near it, wondering if he should put it on and run to Unca Mis, or even Unca d'Art. He knows Foss is drunk. His mother got drunk all the time—he doesn't wanna risk Foss being angry at him. He pulls the coat over his small body, trembling as he tries to fasten the buttons. Even though they're big, his hands are shaking so much he can't fasten them. He hurries out of the door, rain soaking through his hair.

The closest house is Unca Mis's, and he bangs desperately on the door. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and a bleary, half-asleep Aramis answers.

"François?" he asks, and then quickly he beckons the child inside. "What are you doing here at this time? Where's Athos?"

"Foss is dwunk," he says, bluntly but timidly. "He's scawy."

Aramis is stony-faced, but he masks it well. François is frightened enough as it is. "Go in the kitchen, kid, and I'll get you something warm to put on."

He retrieves a pair of pyjamas from the spare bedroom; he's glad Milady thought of giving him clothes for François, otherwise he'd be frantically searching for something. Aramis takes them to the shivering boy, and gently helps him peel off his soaking wet clothes. He puts on the pyjamas, and Aramis finds a towel to dry his hair with.

Two minutes later and he finds himself with an armful of François. Aramis picks the boy up and takes him upstairs to bed.

"Unca Mis, I wanna sweep wif you," he whines, head buried in Aramis's shoulder.

"I'm not going to sleep yet," says Aramis, "but you're welcome to sleep in my bed."

He tucks the little boy in, and after a few minutes he is asleep. Aramis pulls on a pair of boots and leaves the house as quietly as he can.

The rain seems to have stopped. Aramis doesn't stop to knock before entering the house.

Athos is drunk. Athos is so, so drunk.

"Athos," says Aramis, loudly and clearly.

"Huh?" Athos turns to the sound of the voice, and as he does so, Aramis slaps him across the face.

"Wha' w's tha' for?" he slurs.

"Your son is at my house," Aramis bites back. "He was knocking at my door, sobbing his heart out. He's staying with me tonight. When Milady comes back in the morning you can explain to her where your child has gone."

Aramis hardly sleeps that night.

Against all odds, the next morning is bright and sunny. "I'm gonna spwash in da puddwes," says François enthusiastically through a mouthful of pastry.

"That sounds good," says Aramis, but he cannot keep his mind off of Athos. The boy seems to have forgotten about the night before, but _he_ will never forget.

The door opens, and both Aramis and François turn their heads. "An'nee Connie!" squeals the three-year-old in excitement.

"I came as soon as I heard," says Constance. "What was he _thinking_?"

"I daresay he wasn't," says Aramis, "but could we please not have this conversation here?" He nods to François, who is eagerly finishing off his pastry.

"I'm going to take him home," says Constance. "You are in no mood to talk to Athos right now. Milady should be home around lunchtime."

Aramis sighs. "You're right," he admits. "It's probably best if you take over—I am not the greatest when it comes to caring for children."

"Don't say that," she says gently. "You've done well with him. I'm simply taking him out of your hands."

Constance takes François home, dresses him, and leaves him to play with his wooden sword and hobby horse. Athos is sleeping off his hangover, and Constance leaves a glass of water at his bedside. "What have you done?" she asks. Athos snores.

She busies herself with cleaning the house and taking care of François for the rest of the morning.

Milady arrives home at half-past twelve. "Hello, Constance. Where's Athos?"

It is not Constance who answers, but François. "Foss is asweep. He got dwunk wast night, so I went to Unca Mis's house."

Milady's eyes widen. "Oh, _baby_ ," she whispers, immediately sweeping the three-year-old into her arms. "I'm here now—did he scare you?"

François nods, and melts against Milady's chest, crying softly as she murmurs comforts to him.

Athos wakes at around three o'clock, and Milady is sat next to him. Immediately she hands him a glass of water, which he sips gratefully.

"Do you remember anything that happened last night?" she asks bluntly.

"Thomas …" he says drowsily. "The door went, twice—I'm not sure who it was …"

"You scared our son," she snaps. "So much so that he left and went to Aramis's."

Athos freezes. "He what?"

"It's lucky he _made it_ there! He could've been out on the streets and we wouldn't know!"

"Aramis hit me." He remembers bits and pieces.

"Yes," says Milady. "And you deserved it. What were you _thinking_?"

"Thomas …" Athos looks wearily at his wife, who is clearly angry and trying to hide her worry for both husband and son. "Seven years ago now …"

Milady suddenly understands, and she is no longer angry at Athos but at _herself_. She left him alone on the anniversary of his brother's death—what a fool she is.

"Athos, I'm sorry …"

"What?"

"I never thought," she admits. "I left you alone—let's make a rule, hmm?"

"Rule?" Athos is still confused.

"You are never going to be alone on this day," she says. "Even if it's not me with you, it'll be Aramis or Porthos, or d'Artagnan or Constance. I am a fool for forgetting."

He smiles at her, the scent of alcohol still on his breath. "I love you."

Milady laughs. "I love you too," she says, "but I'd love you more if you'd brush your teeth."

Athos is more than a little nervous approaching François, but the boy beams at him. "Hi, Foss!" He buries himself into Athos's chest. "You smeww wike mint."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm sorry—I never meant to frighten you. You're always safe here, François. Don't forget that."

"Iss okay," says François earnestly. "I fowgive you." He pulls away, grinning. "Foss, can you come pway Musketeews wif me?"

"Sure," says Athos, and almost instantly a small hand slips into his, and tugs him in the direction of François's bedroom.


	5. fall in love in a single touch

Although François is a little bit frightened at first, he grows to be excited about the baby in Milady's tummy. He can't wait to become a big brother.

"Mamma, how's my baby brother?" he asks, swinging his legs as he chews whatever treat Porthos has bought him from the bakery.

"Remember, it might be a baby sister," Milady reminds him, "but they're very kicky this morning. Do you want to come and feel?"

François grins. He puts his sticky fingers to Milady's stomach—she's almost eight months along, and it shows—eyes widening in delight whenever he feels the baby kick against his hand.

"When's he gonna come out, Mamma?" he asks. "I wanna hold him already."

"Not for two months, sweetheart," she says. "I hope."

"But I want him to come out now!" he protests.

"Your baby brother—or sister—isn't ready yet. They will come out when they are ready, I promise." Milady smiles.

"Oh, okay," says François. "When's Papa coming home? I wanna show him my drawing."

As if on cue, the door opens, and Athos arrives. He takes his hat from his head and puts it on François.

"Hi, Papa!" he grins. "Guess what? I drawed a picture of you!"

"Let's have a look then." As his son disappears to get the drawing, Athos takes the time to ask, "How has he been?"

"Great, but Porthos has fed him again so we'll have to send him to the garrison to work off all that sugar."

Athos laughs. François pushes a piece of paper into his hands.

"Oh, wonderful! I'll have to pin this up."

The blob, with what Athos assumes is a hat, doesn't exactly resemble him, but it's the thought that counts, he supposes.

"I'm gonna draw grand-papa Treville next," he says confidently.

"Grand-papa will like that very much," says Athos. He looks over to Milady, who is struggling not to laugh.

"Papa, when my baby brother is born can I play horses wif him?"

"I think your brother will be much too young to play horses when he's born," says Athos. "You'll have to wait for him to grow up a bit first."

François sits up on the couch next to Milady. He sits straight and Athos looks at him, bewildered. "François, what are you doing?"

"Waiting," he says simply. He sits like that for approximately half a minute when he says, "I can't wait no more. I'm gonna do grand-papa's drawing. Papa, please can you tell me when my baby brother comes?"

Athos cannot hold back his laughter as his son leaves the room.

"Well, at least he's dedicated," comments Milady, "for half a minute."

"Do you think it'll be a boy?" asks Athos.

"Good God, could you imagine two boys in our house? There'd never be a moment's peace!"


	6. we are surrounded by colour and light

François follows the Dauphin through corridor upon corridor, until they reach a door at the very end of a pale blue-wallpapered corridor. Louis pushes open the door. 'Come on,' he urges.

François follows him into a room that is mostly empty, except for some drawers and a cot in the middle of the room. 'Oh!' he says.

'Come look,' says Louis. 'Iss my baby bwofer. His name's Phiwippe.'

François stares over the rails and into the cot. A tiny, red-faced baby is lying on cream-coloured blankets, fast asleep. 'Oh! He's so small,' he comments. 'Does that mean _my_ baby brother's gonna be small too?' François frowns. 'I was gonna play horses with him.'

Louis folds his arms. 'You can stiw pway howses wif _me_ ,' he pouts.

'Do you wanna do that now?' asks François. As cute as the baby Prince is, he's a bit boring. He's not doing anything, after all.

'Okay,' says the Dauphin.

François turns around as he hears footsteps behind him. The Queen enters the room. 'What are you doing in here?' she asks gently.

'I tooked François to see my baby bwofer,' explains Louis.

'That's okay, sweetie,' says Anne, 'but remember he's still a baby. Philippe's sleeping right now. Why don't you boys go and play?'

'Me and Louis were just gonna go and play horses,' François pipes up. 'Come on, let's go.'

'I want da wed one!' exclaims Louis, hurrying back down the corridor.

'That's not fair!' yells François, running after him. 'You had the red one last time!'

Anne smiles to nobody but herself, as she listens to the sounds of giggling get quieter as the boys disappear down the corridor.


	7. what a privilege to love you

Raoul is born late November, just two months before François's fifth birthday. He is a chubby baby, and although quiet he is quite the troublemaker. François watches his cot as the babe wriggles and coos.

"Hi," he says quietly. The baby has Athos's eyes, and he looks curiously at the source of the voice. "I'm your big brother. When you get big enough Papa says we can play horses together, so you gotta grow up fast so we can do it soon."

Raoul, although a winter baby, darkens in the summer and his shoulders are freckled. He wriggles furiously whenever Milady tries to clothe him, and Athos, the infuriating bastard, just laughs.

"He takes after Aramis," he says lowly. "He wants to take his clothes off for the first woman he sees."

Milady elbows him in the ribs just as Raoul blows bubbles from his lips.

Although Raoul talks early, he never seems to want to walk anywhere. He is perfectly content with being carried to and fro, even when Constance and d'Artagnan's girl is up on her feet by the time she is only a year.

 _Most babies_ , says the book that Milady has borrowed from Constance, _practice standing up before they can walk._

Raoul does neither of those things. Instead, one afternoon in May, he raises himself from the floor and _runs_. And from that moment on, he runs from everything and anything that might mean dressing, sleeping, and bathing.

"Milady," says Athos one night, "as much as I love Raoul and François, let's make an agreement to never have another child. Two is enough."

"Agreed," says Milady.

That plan goes as well as you'd expect.


	8. i promise you i'll keep you safe

"I don't believe it." Milady is almost laughing. "We're having another baby."

Athos is half-grinning. "That's great! Although I don't think this house can hold another child."

"I don't think _I_ can hold another child," but she's laughing now. "When do we tell the children?"

"Later," says Athos, and they wait a few weeks to announce the news.

Although François is ecstatic, Raoul is a little confused. "Baby in Mamma's tummy?" he asks quietly.

"Yes," says Milady gently, allowing her youngest son time to understand.

François's reply is a little less gentle and much more enthusiastic. "Yeah, and then when the baby's ready, it comes out!"

Raoul wrinkles his nose. "Okay," he says. He doesn't fully understand the excitement, until he notices Milady's stomach has gotten bigger. "Da baby got biggew," he says. "Is it getting' weady to come out?"

Milady laughs. "Not yet, sweet. Give them four months yet." It's clear Raoul's intrigue mirrors François's, whom doesn't seem as excited this time around. He's clearly more interested with playing games with his friends and going to see Louis.

Milady admits to herself that she's a little relieved that she gives birth to a girl. Athos is smitten with his daughter the moment he lays eyes on her. Raoul and François lean over the bed, and Raoul asks the all-important question:

"Mamma, whass her name?"

"She's called Élise," answers Milady.

Athos understands d'Artagnan's love for Roselle; yes, girls _are_ different from boys.

A house with three children is not an easy one, but it is a rewarding one … after all, there are three times the cuddles and love at the end of the day.


	9. we're vivid colour

"Sorry you couldn't come to see me last week," apologises Louis. He and François are sat, cross-legged, on the floor of Louis's playroom. "My cousin came from Spain."

"Oh," says François, intrigued. "What's she like?"

"I don't like her."

"Why not?"

"She's really pretty."

François frowns. "So what?"

"She's _pretty_ ," stresses Louis. "She's got brown hair and her skin's nice and _pale_!" He scowls. "She wears these really frilly dresses and she plays with _dolls_."

"So what?" asks François. "Lots of girls play with dolls."

"Roselle doesn't," counters Louis. "She plays Musketeers with us."

François shrugs. "But that's _Roselle_. And she's only six. I imagine when she's older she'll start wearing dresses too."

"Do you think Roselle is pretty?" presses the younger boy.

"Of course I do," replies François confidently. "She's pretty just like Aunt Connie and my mamma … and your mamma, too."

"No, not like that! Do you think she's pretty like your papa thinks your mamma's pretty?" Louis cocks his head to one side. "Would you kiss her?"

"I kiss her all the time; you know that."

"Would you kiss her on the lips?" The Dauphin grins.

"Eww! No way!" François turns his head to the side and makes a retching sound. "Why would you want to kiss anyone?"

"I don't know," the Prince says, "but lots of people do it. My mamma and papa do it."

"Yeah," says François, "so do mine. But that's _different_. They have to, because they're married."

"So why do people get married?"

"I don't know," says François. "I guess when you grow up, you just _have_ to. Otherwise, you're not a real grown-up."

Louis gasps in shock. "Then I should get married now!"

"Why?"

"Or I'm not a grown-up!"

François laughs. "You wouldn't be a grown-up even if you _did_ get married. You're only eight. And anyway, they wouldn't let you get married." Louis folds his arms. "You've got nobody to get married _to_."

"I could marry you," suggests the Dauphin.

"Don't be silly! You can't marry me, I'm a boy. You can only marry a girl."

"Why?" presses the younger boy.

"Because God said so, and my mamma says you have to do what God tells you to."

"But I want to be a grown-up!" he whines.

"You'll be a grown-up in ten years," says François. "Grown-ups are eighteen and older. I know because I asked my papa and he told me. Besides, you don't want to be a grown-up. Grown-ups aren't allowed to play horses."

"That's silly," says Louis. "When I grow up, I'm gonna play horses all the time, and I'm gonna go to sleep whenever I want, and then I'm gonna get up whenever I want. And when I grow up, I get to be King too, so I'm gonna make it the law that everybody gets to eat sweets all the time, and vegetables are illegal."

"Yeah!" grins François. "I think you should be friends with the King of Italy, too, so you can get ice-cream for free! And then we can eat ice-cream _all_ day—"

"— _every_ day!" The Dauphin giggles. "That sounds so fun! I can't wait to be King!"

"Me either. Hey, do you think I can be a Duke or something?"

"You can be a Duke _and_ my best friend. That means you get invited to all my parties and you can sit in a special seat next to me and help me make the _biggest_ tower of cake ever! And then when it gets late we can swing our feet as much as we want and we won't get in trouble if we kick people because I'll be the King and nobody can tell the King what to do!"

François grins. "You're my best friend ever."

"You're my bestest best friend ever ever," says Louis. "We're gonna be best friends forever, right?"

"Forever."


	10. a sweeter song

The mid-August sun is sweltering, and François and Roselle are forced to take cover in the garrison, cutting the noon's adventure to a close. He is fifteen, and she is almost twelve, growing taller by the day. Her hair, very much like her mother's, tumbles down her back in a cascade of curls. D'Artagnan's eyes hold all the emotion in the world; bright and bold and cheery. They are stood outside Treville's office, where the roof shields them from the sun.

François looks at her, more than a little shyly. Five years ago he had told Louis that Roselle was pretty, but he was wrong. She isn't pretty.

She is beautiful.

"Why do you think people want to get married?" He blurts out the question before he can stop himself. His cheeks flush bright red, but it could easily be masked as the heat.

"I don't know," she replies, shrugging. "When you get older, you just have to."

It is the same answer François gave Louis. "I'm going to marry Pénélope," he says quietly.

Roselle laughs. "You can't marry her! She's your piano teacher."

"So what?" asks François.

"She'll give you top marks and then it won't be fair," protests the eleven-year-old.

"No, she won't." François looks at her and says quietly, "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

"What, like _real_ kissed? On the lips?"

"Yeah," says the fifteen-year-old.

"No way."

"Well … maybe we should," suggests François, "just to see what the fuss is about."

"Okay then." Roselle pouts her lips and squeezes her eyes shut. Slowly, François copies her and leans forward. Their lips touch gently for half a second, and Roselle quickly pulls away. They look at each other, neither knowing what to say.

"Say something," urges Roselle.

François panics. "Uh … one for all?"

"All for one!" Roselle grins, and suddenly the kiss is forgotten as the two begin to talk of Musketeers.

As the day hardens on, the two make their way home for dinner.

"François?" says Roselle quietly, just as François is about to turn the doorknob. "Would you think of me?"

François's brows furrow in confusion. "For what?"

"You know … if you don't get to marry Pénélope."

François shrugs. "I guess."

He disappears inside the house, just in time to hear Élise squealing about something to do with her dolls.


End file.
